The Game
by Kirachu
Summary: Fuuma x Seishirou, Seishirou x Fuuma. Vague lime.


The Game Amanda Amanda 4 191 2001-10-21T19:28:00Z 2001-10-21T19:30:00Z 4 2866 13186 239 56 20065 9.2720 The Game 

**by Kira**

Common courtesy was not a virtue that the Dark Kamui had the honor to be blessed with.  It was why he did not bother to so much as knock to warn of his entrance before tricking the lock to the single-room apartment and slipping inside.  A quick visual touch along the room brought him to the conclusion that it was in fact empty, its patron away for the evening.  Closing the door behind him, Fuuma sincerely hoped that he would return soon.  It would become very boring if there were nothing to amuse him.

While he had stood outside of the apartment many times before, he had never had the chance to do so much as glimpse inside.  He had expected nothing spectacular of the Sakurazukamori's home and nothing spectacular was what he received.  The pure normalcy of the apartment was somewhat disappointing.  There was no television, not that he had expected there to be one when one held such an elite air as the Sakurazukamori did, but there was a audio system, tucked neatly in the shelves of a long bookcase.  He wandered there, allowing the tip of his finger to run slowly over the surface of the console.  Not surprisingly, there was not even the slightest trace of dust or soot on his skin when he glanced at it almost unconsciously.

A pack of Wild Seven cigarettes had been left discarded on the kitchen counter, the few left in the package peeking out of their sheath.  Fuuma took the tip between his thumb and index finger, sliding it out of the pack and bringing it up to his lips.  Picking up the lighter from where it had set rested alongside the pack, he lit the cigarette and casually let a puff of air slip through his lips.  He savored the taste for a brief moment, eyes lidded and thoughts far away.  Drawing himself back to reality, he smiled absently to himself and moved on, a tendril of smoke trailing behind him.

The Sakurazukamori was meticulous in his cleaning, he noted.  Not a single thing was left out of place, not the slightest item out of its own personal space.  The utter perfection was enough to make him feel an urge to wreck the entire apartment, an urge he reeled in as soon as it was birthed.  He certainly did not need to do anything that would have the Sakurazukamori irritated with him.  It was not that he cared if the man were annoyed with him, but that if he were, it did make their time together rather uncomfortable.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkened bedroom, because unlike the sitting room and kitchen of the apartment, the curtains to the single window were not drawn, allowing in the moonlight.  He did not flip on the light switch to illuminate the room, knowing that it would likely only draw the unwanted attention of neighbors.  The darkness was not unwelcome, but it did stand as a minor hazard, and carefully making his way across the room, he drew open the curtains and allowed the silver light of the moon fill the room.

The bedroom was no more spectacular than any other portion of the apartment.  Sighing in a disappointed manner, the Dark Kamui lowered himself to the bed, falling back to stare up at the white-splatter ceiling.  The lack of anything better to do was what had propelled him into coming to the home of the Sakurazukamori, but now that he was here, he was as bored, if not more, as he had been when he was alone.  He could only hope that when the Sakurazukamori returned home, if ever, the expression on his face when he saw the intruder in his home would be worth the trouble.

To sleep had never been his intention, but as he slowly opened his eyes and was assaulted with the dizzy sense of awakening, he realized that he must have dozed away while awaiting the Sakurazukamori's return.  Sitting up, he ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing away the long bangs from his forehead while his eyes attempted to adjust from wakening blurriness.  A thread of light had seamed its way into the bedroom through the small crack in the nearly closed door.  A slight frown creased the Dark Kamui's attractive features and, pushing himself up from the bed, he padded softly over to the door to steal a glimpse outside.

Expression thoughtful, Seishirou Sakurazuka stood in his kitchen, a cigarette in one hand and nothing in the other.  For the briefest second, that expression flickered, leaving something that Fuuma could not name behind.  He thought for that moment that he had seen the Sakurazukamori in a way others could not, completely unguarded without the mask of his smile.  It intrigued him to think that he had been able to see this and he wondered if he could get such an expression out of the man again.

"You didn't wake me."  Pushing the door open fully, Fuuma occupied the space in the doorframe by leaning against it comfortably.  He stretched out his arms over his head and let a content sigh escape his lips.  Now that he had the attention he craved, he smiled, an almost innocent smile at that; a child's smile.

Seishirou took a long drag of his cigarette before he even considered responding.  When he did, he returned a smile of his own, gentle and disarming.  "You look very cute when you're sleeping.  I didn't want to disturb you."

Fuuma closed the distance between them.  This harmless flirting had never gained them anything, not even the slightest touch or physical contact.  It was as though they had silently erected a wall between them that said it could go no further than the innocent flirtations.  But Fuuma was not a patient person and could not deal with being teased for so long.  He took what he wanted, and if it so be the Sakurazukamori, he would have that, too.

However, he realized and accepted that Seishirou was not a pushover opponent.  If he were to try anything he knew it would turn into a hopeless battle for power, and it was for that reason he had never bothered at all.  He could easily amuse himself and contain his libido with his rare moments of playtime with Kamui and time spent with the yumemi in the Dreamscape.

"Where were you?"

Tapping the ash of his cigarette into the glass tray on the counter top, Seishirou shrugged.  "I had some business to attend to.  Did I keep you waiting long?"

By business, of course, he meant that the Tree had decided it wanted a late night snack, which as well meant that Seishirou's energy was certainly not at its height.  Seishirou had made the mistake of telling him that it took up to a few hours for the Tree to completely digest a newly fed soul, and if the Tree were lacking in energy, as was the Sakurazukamori.  Fuuma supposed that was why Seishirou look exhausted.  The only thing keeping him awake was his utter refusal to allow sleep to consume him.

"Not very," Fuuma replied.  

Seeing no need in asking, Fuuma reached over, slid another cigarette from its package, and put it to his lips.  In an unconscious movement, Seishirou picked up the lighter and held it out for his companion.  He was marginally startled, however, when Fuuma's hand closed over his own.  Quickly replacing such surprise with his usual blank expression, he turned his attention to the younger man.  Fuuma leaned forward and caught the tip of his cigarette in the lighter's flame, then released Seishirou's hand and sat back, letting a thread of smoke sift out from his lips.

"Your hand was shaking," he said simply, an almost curious tone to his voice.

Seishirou nearly frowned, but he caught himself before it could grow, replacing it with an easy smile.  "I didn't have my gloves with me while I was out," he replied, knowing that it was as close to the truth as he could come.  Fortunately, the Dark Kamui seemed to accept that excuse.

"Was it the Tree?"

Choosing the most convenient way to avoid discussing matters concerning the Sakura, Seishirou nodded.  He stubbed out his cigarette, started to reach for another, and was slightly irritated to find that all were gone.

"It's your weakness as much as it is an ally, isn't that so?"  

Fuuma removed the cigarette from his lips and offered it to Seishirou.  After a moment's contemplation of the younger man and the disarming expression he had taken on, he accepted it gratefully and put it to his own lips.  He was silent while he took care of his addiction with a long drag, then returned the cigarette to Fuuma.  The latter took his own drag, watching Seishirou evenly.

"I suppose it is," Seishirou said finally.

Fuuma smiled suddenly.  "You just admitted to a weakness.  That doesn't seem very like you."

"I'm a little too tired to pretend that I'm invulnerable to the world right now, Fuuma-kun," Seishirou replied, controlling his irritation quite well with the simplicity of his words and the lack of change in his expression.  But it was too late for that; his second of annoyance was seen and he found himself trapped, Fuuma's curious eyes burning into him.

"No," Fuuma murmured softly after a long interval of silence.  "No one is invulnerable."

Seishirou raised an eyebrow.  In the way he spoke the words, it seemed the Dark Kamui too was also confessing to weakness.  It seemed odd, that they should be able to speak this way with one another, when both were people that depended heavily on their own strength and dominance.  Of course, it struck him as odd that he and the Dark Kamui were even having the slightest of a meaningful conversation.  All of their previous encounters had been no more than the casual flirting and a few evenings spent together over dinner or perhaps destroying a kekkai.  Certainly not what could be considered wonderful bonding time.

Regardless, he almost enjoyed the younger man's company.  He was an intriguing person and their time spent together was never uncomfortable.  They could spend an entire evening of silence together and neither was left unsatisfied with the other's company.  His relationship with the Dark Kamui went no further than this, however.  There was nothing more he wanted from Fuuma.  The casual encounters, the simple evenings spent over dinner -- that was enough for him.  And he didn't know why.  In the back of his mind, he supposed that, while he was a solitary hunter, no person could be sane without some contact to the outside world.  Fuuma kept that odd feeling of loneliness that he had never been able to understand away.

But it was nothing he would ever allow Fuuma to know.

Moving away from the counter, he circled around Fuuma and began to walk toward the bedroom, without a word to the younger man.  Fuuma did not question, only stared after him thoughtfully for a moment before rising and following.  Seishirou had disappeared into the dark room by the time Fuuma walked into its doorframe.  Leaning against the space provided, he folded his arms over his chest and waited, perhaps for acknowledgement, perhaps to simply see movement from Seishirou.  He wasn't sure which.

The light on the bathroom went on, casting Seishirou's shadow on the opposite wall.  Fuuma watched that shadow as Seishirou started to remove his heavy overcoat and tie.  Smiling slightly to himself, he wondered absently if Seishirou would appreciate him watching.  It certainly wouldn't injure the older man's ego any; Seishirou was notorious for his arrogance.

"You aren't going to tell me to go?" Fuuma asked finally, curious.

"If I did, would you?"

Laughing softly under his breath, Fuuma replied, "You make a good point.  Besides, I rather like it here.  Great view."

The innuendo in his voice was not lost to Seishirou.  He chose to ignore the remark and continued to undo the buttons to his dress shirt, his back turned to the bedroom.  Perhaps that was his mistake, for it left him vulnerable to his companion, an opportunity that Fuuma was not willing to let pass by.  Removing himself from the doorframe, he walked silently toward the bathroom to stand behind the older man.  He moved slowly, so as to not startle Seishirou and gain himself an injury instead of what he was actually seeking.  His arms draped carelessly over the older man's shoulders, his chin dropping to rest near the junction between Seishirou's neck and shoulder blades.  Seishirou stilled.

"You don't turn me away ever," Fuuma murmured softly, his lips brushing the older man's ear.  "Why?"

"I'm afraid I have a fondness for adorable company," Seishirou replied.  

He relaxed into the weight of Fuuma's arms draped over him and steeled himself against the urge to shiver as the younger man's breath brushed lightly over his face.  No one had ever been quite this forward with him before.  It was an odd feeling, and yet somehow, not an unwelcome one.  Fuuma laughed quietly.

"Is that all?"

Seishirou did not reply.  One of Fuuma's hands slipped down his chest, picking up where his own hands had stopped in unbuttoning the dress shirt.

"I can see you," Fuuma murmured, "like no one else has before."  His hand slid beneath the slightly parted shirt, his fingers beginning to trace shapes absently along the older man's abdomen.  "I know you."  He closed his eyes and nuzzled the junction between jaw and throat.  "Because you're the same as me."

Frustrated, both with Fuuma and they games they played, Seishirou pushed away from the younger man.  Fuuma started to take a step back, knowing that he had stepped over their unspoken boundary, only to find himself pressed up against the bathroom wall, two hands pressed against it on either side of his head.  He started to frown, but upon looking into Seishirou's eyes, seeing the look of a hunter that had found his prey, he began to smile.

"I don't think you know me at all, Fuuma-kun," Seishirou said gently, "or you might realize exactly what you are getting yourself into."

"I knew what when I came."

Reclaiming control of the situation, he leaned forward and caught the older man's lips with his own.  Rather than resist the assault, Seishirou allowed the sudden pressure against him.  A hand slid away from the wall, coming to touch Fuuma's cheek lightly with his fingertips, drifting closer toward the back of his neck.  Threading his fingers through the short, dark hair, he pulled the younger man closer to him.  Fuuma came willingly, but not willing enough that he gave the illusion of the control being in Seishirou's hands.  His tongue urged the other man's lips to part and allow him in.  Seishirou relaxed and allowed Fuuma to control the kiss, if only for a moment.

Breaking away, Seishirou regarded the younger man evenly.  There was a resolved gleam in his eyes.  He knew what was to come and was prepared for it.  Seishirou, however, was not sure if he was.

"I know you want this."  Fuuma draped his arms around Seishirou's neck.  Lowering his face to the older man's neck, he began to lay a pattern of careless kisses along his neck and collarbone.

"You seem quite certain of that," Seishirou replied gently.  He tipped his head to the side, finding that he enjoyed Fuuma's inexperienced aggression.  It was a welcome change from what he was used to.

Fuuma smirked.  "I know you won't turn me away."  He lifted his head, momentarily startled to find that the control had shifted again to Seishirou as the older man began to dot his face with careless kisses.  His hands ran the length of Fuuma's body before settling on his waist, gripping the t-shirt in his hands and beginning to push it up.

"Why?  I could turn you away now."  

He stopped in his agonizingly slow attentions.  He pulled away, mismatched eyes locking with Fuuma's calm, unphased amber brown pair.  Fuuma began to draw him into the bedroom.

"You're lonely," he replied, pulling Seishirou forward to lock their lips for a brief moment, "and as they say, some company is better than none at all."

Seishirou froze.

"So come on."  Fuuma drew him nearer.  "Let's make of this what we can."

Sunlight poured into the room through the crack in the curtains.  A soft groan escaped Seishirou's lips as it assaulted him, wakening him from his deep, unaffected slumber.  The sheets pooled in his lap as he tried to remember the haze of the night prior, but in the end all of it was lost to him as though it were some distant memory.  He awoke this morning as he awoke every morning.

Alone.

He had expected nothing more.  Theirs was a courtship unlike any other.  He had expected nothing, and nothing was what he received.  And he wanted nothing more than what he had been given.  Oddly, he was grateful for the game they had played last night, if only because he had needed, for once, to be with another person without emotions running rampant and expectations when it was over.  What they had was an understanding.

Leaning back against the tossed about pillows and sheets, he sighed softly and allowed his gaze to linger along the quiet room.  His eyes fell on the nightstand and a laugh escaped him.

There, resting beside his sunglasses, was a package of Wild Seven cigarettes.


End file.
